Hooked for Life After a Kiss

"Joe, your legs are… so tense." A woman's soft, breathy voice drifted out through the half-open door of a hotel's presidential suite.

Sylvie Hart stopped short with a bowl of soup in her hands.

That night, the entire top floor of the hotel was booked out by VIPs. Her shift supervisor, Joey White, had repeatedly reminded everyone on duty that the Emerson heir was a particularly important guest, and they couldn't afford to slip up.

Sylvie had been just about to knock when something through the crack in the door caught her eye. One glance was enough to freeze her in place. Even her blood ran cold.

A woman in a snow-white designer dress was half-kneeling on the floor in front of a luxurious black leather couch, her body practically draped over the man's legs. The position was so suggestive it would've made anyone blush.

The man lounged lazily against the couch. The top two buttons of his black dress shirt were undone, revealing a glimpse of his collarbone. A pair of gold-rimmed glasses rested on the bridge of his nose. His features were relaxed, carrying the effortless elegance and superiority of someone born to stand above others.

A deafening buzz filled Sylvie's head, as if a string of bombs had gone off at once.

She knew that profile all too well. Even dressed in an expensive shirt and seated in a presidential suite she would never be able to afford, she still recognized him instantly.

Joe. He was her Joe.

Five years ago, she'd found him lying in a muddy ditch behind the village, covered in blood. She'd carried him home on her back and watched over him for three days and nights, dragging him back from death's door.

He'd lost his memory and had nowhere to go. He'd clung to her like an overgrown, needy puppy for five whole years. Just last night, he'd still been holding her and saying, "Syl, I'll make sure to give you a good life once I make real money."

Yet now, that same man was sitting in a suite that cost tens of thousands a night, with another woman draped over his legs.

"I told you not to tough it out when you twisted your ankle earlier," the woman, Michelle Greene, said.

She tilted her face up, her fingertips pressing and kneading slowly along the fabric of Joe's—or rather, Jonah Emerson's—pants. "Does it still hurt here? I'll work it out for you."

All Sylvie could hear was a loud roaring in her ears. She couldn't even make out what they were saying. She felt cold all over, and her hands shook so hard she couldn't control them.

The tray slipped from her hands and crashed onto the marble floor with a loud clatter. The porcelain bowl shattered on impact, and the scalding soup splashed everywhere.

A few young men were walking down the hallway, joking around. The moment they saw the mess on the floor, their faces darkened.

"What the hell are you doing? Do you have butterfingers or something?" one of them snarled.

Sylvie snapped out of her daze and slowly lifted her head. Behind her, steady footsteps drew closer.

Jonah walked out of the suite with one hand in his pocket, his expression cool and detached. It was as if that steamy little scene from moments ago had never happened. The instant he saw Sylvie, his eyes widened just a fraction, and he stopped in his tracks.

Sylvie stared hard at him, searching his face for even the slightest hint of panic or guilt—anything that looked like he still had a conscience.

There was nothing.

After that split second of surprise, Jonah's eyes darkened behind his glasses. All Sylvie could see was the irritation of someone whose secret had been exposed and the annoyance of being interrupted.

Michelle followed Jonah out, lifting her skirt slightly. When she saw Sylvie, a flash of smug triumph flitted through her eyes, like she was staking her claim.

"Mr. Emerson, there you are."

The scions in the hallway immediately plastered on flattering smiles and hurried over.

"The Suttons just called to ask if you want to check the program for the engagement party personally, and here you are, hiding out for some peace," one of them said.

Another guy glanced at Michelle, then smiled knowingly. "Ms. Greene, you're here as well? Mr. Emerson's getting engaged to the Sutton heiress soon, yet he's still so hung up on you, the woman who saved his life. Ms. Sutton's gonna be jealous if she finds out."

Mr. Emerson. Engagement. The woman who saved his life.

Each word slammed into Sylvie's chest like a sledgehammer.

So "Joe" hadn't been some broke nobody after all. He was Jonah Emerson, the high and mighty heir of the Emerson family, and he was about to get engaged to a woman whose status matched his perfectly.

Sylvie had been the only one left in the dark.

"If you ask me, Ms. Greene really is Mr. Emerson's lucky charm," someone said, their tone flattering. "If not for her incredible acupuncture, who knows when Mr. Emerson would've regained his memory and returned to the Emerson family to take over the family business?"

"Tell me about it. Just two sessions with her, and he remembered everything. No one can top a favor like that."

Michelle ducked her head with a shy smile. "Don't say that. I just did what any doctor should do. Joe's suffered a lot, wandering around on his own all these years. I'm just glad I could help him."

Then, she gasped, acting as though she'd only just noticed the broken porcelain scattered across the floor. "Oh, no. How could the server be so careless? Joe drank a lot tonight. If he doesn't get some warm soup to help with the hangover, his stomach's gonna start acting up again."

Sylvie trembled with fury, but she didn't spare Michelle so much as a glance. She just kept her gaze trained on Jonah.

If Michelle was his savior, then what did that make her?

She'd carried him home five years ago when he'd been badly injured. She'd stopped his bleeding, stitched his wounds, and dragged him back from the brink.

On all those nights when his injuries flared up and his head was killing him, she was the one who'd stayed up with him till dawn. She'd performed acupuncture on him, made him herbal brews, and massaged his acupressure points again and again.

Yet now, everyone was acting like Michelle was the one who'd saved Jonah's life, and he just stood there without a word. He didn't explain what he and Sylvie were to each other, and he didn't bother correcting anything anyone said.

The last shred of hope Sylvie had finally shattered.

Just then, another server hurried over with a fresh bowl of soup. Joey hurried along with them, sweating bullets. He snatched the tray from the server and shoved it into Sylvie's hands.

"What are you standing there for? Get over there and apologize to Mr. Emerson, now!" he hissed.

Sylvie didn't move.

Michelle suddenly stepped forward with a pleasant smile. "I'll do it."

The next second, her elbow "accidentally" hit the edge of the tray. The bowl tipped hard, and most of the dark brown soup went flying, splashing all over her white dress.

She let out a sharp cry and stumbled back. An ugly stain spread quickly across the white skirt. Her eyes went red, and she looked like she was about to burst into tears. "My dress…"

Sylvie kept the remaining half bowl of soup balanced in her hands, watching Michelle's performance with icy detachment.

But the accusations came down on her like a hailstorm.

"What the hell is wrong with you? You did that on purpose, didn't you?"

"How dare you splash that soup on Ms. Greene? You're asking for it!"

Joey nearly had a heart attack. He grabbed Sylvie by the shoulders and tried to force her to bow. "Mr. Emerson, Ms. Greene, I'm so sorry about this! She's new and doesn't know any better. I'll make her apologize right now!"

Michelle dabbed at the corners of her eyes and let out a cold laugh. "Apologize? Joe had this dress custom-made for me. It costs 80 grand. Do you think she can afford to pay for it?"

80,000 dollars.

Even working three jobs a day, Sylvie barely managed to save a little over 2,000 dollars a month.

Joey dug his fingers hard into Sylvie's arm in warning, his voice a low, urgent hiss. "Get on your knees and apologize, now! Or are you trying to get us all fired?"

She still didn't budge. Her eyes were bloodshot as she stared straight at Jonah, still refusing to believe that the man who'd spent five years by her side could really just stand there and watch her get humiliated like this.

Jonah lowered his gaze to her. Behind the gold frames, his eyes were as cold and dark as a still lake. There wasn't a single ripple of emotion in sight. It was as if the woman in front of him was a total stranger.

A few seconds later, he turned to Michelle and said gently, "Don't be mad. I'll buy you another one."

Sylvie's lashes fluttered at his words. The sky-high figure she could never scrape together, no matter how hard she worked, just rolled off his tongue like it was pocket change. He promised it so casually to another woman.

When Jonah spoke again, his voice was utterly devoid of warmth. "But when a person screws up, they have to apologize."

In that instant, Sylvie heard something inside her snap for good.

Joey ground his teeth by her ear. "Do you wanna lose this job? Move it. Apologize!"

Her mother, Esther Miller, was still lying in a hospital bed. The medicine that kept her alive couldn't stop for even a single day. Sylvie couldn't afford to lose this paycheck. Reality crushed her dignity into dust.

She bit down on her lower lip so hard that she tasted blood. She stared at Jonah one last time, as if trying to peel this cold stranger in front of her away from the gentle Joe she remembered.

Then, Sylvie slowly bent at the waist but kept her knees locked straight. "I'm sorry, Ms. Greene. Your dress got stained because of the soup I'm holding, and I apologize for that."

When she finished, she straightened up again, her eyes clear and unflinching. "But you're the one who rammed into my tray. I'm not taking the blame for that."

The hallway went dead quiet.

For a second, the smugness on Michelle's face froze. Then, it twisted into open disdain. "I can't believe you're still mouthing off at a time like this. Some people just won't ever learn their place, will they?"

Jonah's brows pulled together just a fraction as he stared at Sylvie's stubborn silhouette. Michelle wrapped her arms around one of his and pressed closer, sounding hurt as she said, "Joe, I don't wanna see her again. She deliberately splashed me, yet she's trying to turn this on me."

After a brief silence, Jonah looked away. "Security, get her out of here."

Two security guards walked over at once and grabbed Sylvie by the arms. She didn't struggle or beg. She just kept her back straight and let them march her over toward the elevators.

Right before the doors slid shut, she turned back for one last look.

Under the glittering crystal chandelier, Jonah's profile was cool and distant while Michelle leaned into him, her posture cozy and intimate. They looked like they belonged in a world Sylvie had never been part of.

The elevator doors closed.

Sylvie leaned against the cold metal wall and suddenly let out a short, humorless laugh. Then, the tears spilled forth.

Joe was gone. He had died the day he regained his memories and went back to being Jonah Emerson.